Rose straightened. “I know I fucked up, but it’s not like Romeo Capparelli realized there was a Verducci in his territory, either. This isn’t solely on me.”
“You’re fucking his enemy.” Trust Papa to cut to the chase. “He’s taking it personally.”
Damn it. She really had fucked this up. She tried to slow down, tried to think, but in Romeo’s situation, she’d do something similar. There was no denying the insult. If he’d been entertaining one of their enemies the way she’d been entertaining Jackson—no, Dante—then she would have demanded blood. He had them over a barrel, and he knew it. Fuck.
If she wasn’t willing to let her sister pay the price of her foolishness, then there was only one course of action. She knew it’d come to this eventually. Marriage and babies and that whole thing was part of the lifestyle. With IVF as an option, she hadn’t really worried overmuch about the gender of the person she’d eventually say “I do” to, but Romeo Capparelli?
She was exhausted just thinking about spending the rest of her life jockeying for power. “I’ll marry him.”
“He wants—”
She dropped her hands and cut off her father. “I don’t give a fuck what Romeo Capparelli wants. One Romanov daughter is as good as another. This is my mess. I’ll be the one to pay the consequences. Not Lorelei.” Not any of her sisters.
“If you’re sure.”
She wasn’t. She wasn’t even close to sure. By marrying Romeo, it sentenced her to a life of fighting to ensure her people and territory weren’t devoured by his. There was a reason heirs rarely married each other—something non-female members of the underworld normally didn’t have to worry about. It was why other families treated their daughters as pawns to be moved about to secure alliances.
Romeo wanted a Romanov daughter? She’d give him one.
Mama pushed off the chair and gave Papa’s shoulder a squeeze. “We’ll have an ironclad prenup drawn up. You’ll be protected.”
“I can protect myself.” She worked to take the bite out of her tone. Her parents hadn’t put her in this situation. Her own short-sightedness, her own selfishness had. If she’d given in to their gentle pressure a few years ago, she could have married some nice, docile little spouse whom she’d never have to worry about sinking a knife into her ribs. “I made my bed. I’ll deal with laying in it.”
“Rose—”
She pushed to her feet. “But Romeo will do me one courtesy before we officially enter negotiations.”
Papa lifted a single brow. “That courtesy?”
“I’ll deal with Dante Verducci myself.” Tonight. Right fucking now.
He’d made a fool of her, and she wasn’t going to let him live long enough to regret it.
Chapter 2
Rose’s sisters descended and she got ready. She chose her clothing carefully, just like she always did when meeting…Jackson. As far as he knew, she was just a woman who worked an office job she didn’t love, had a big family, and liked roses.
Rose would never be able to look at her namesake again after this.
She slammed her hair dryer down harder than she intended. He knew. That bastard knew who she was this whole time, and he played her for a fool. She had too much anger, her mother’s anger that flared hot and scalding, but she didn’t bother to control it. Not this time. Not when it would serve her so well.
Lorelei lifted her brows, meeting Rose’s gaze in the mirror. “What did that hair dryer ever do to you?”
Anya tossed her lean body onto Rose’s bed, sprawling the way she always seemed to. “She’s pissed because Mama and Papa are making her break up with the bartender.” The way she said bartender was loaded with loathing. Anya had strong opinions about Rose “slumming it with the normies.”
Lorelei’s brows winged higher. “That was fast.”
“It’s been months. That’s not fast at all.” Sasha reached around Rose to grab a tube of mascara. “This is mine, by the way.”
Lorelei snorted. “Actually, it’s mine. You borrowed it from me last week, remember?”
“I returned that one.” Sasha waved the tube. “I bought this yesterday.”
“Liar.”
“Selfish hag.”
“Bitch.”
“Take it.” Rose studied her sisters in the mirror, letting their chaotic squabbling ground her. They threw insults with a fondness that belied the words themselves. This was her life. This was normal. She never should have tried to go against it, even in temporary rebellion. She closed her eyes and inhaled slowly. It would be okay. Rose would fix things and she would be the only one to pay for the consequences of her actions.
She pulled on a cheap floral dress she’d bought from a box store. The woman in the mirror hardly looked like her. It was only now, when the whole charade had fallen down around her head that she had to admit the fucked-up lengths she’d gone to in keeping it afloat. She didn’t look like Rose Romanov. She looked like just another brunette who walked the streets of New York every day of her life, barely getting by, and yet the only thing she really had to stress about was the shitty dating pool.
That woman didn’t have her entire family relying on her to make the smart call, to sacrifice in order to provide for them for the next generation.
That woman was silly and foolish and a little vapid.
That woman was in love with a man who didn’t exist.
What a fucking waste.
“Rose?” From the tone of Sasha’s voice, this wasn’t the first time she’d said her sister’s name.
Rose tried for a smile. “Sorry. I was thinking of something else. What did you say?”
“Are you okay?” Sasha sat next to Lorelei. They were three years apart, but they could almost have been twins when they were next to each other. Both were pretty and curvy and totally at ease in their skins. The only real difference was that the sweetness of their expression was genuine on Sasha’s face and a carefully curated mask on Lorelei’s. Their youngest sister preferred people to underestimate her.
Sasha kept going. “I know you liked him, but don’t you think our parents are right? Can you really imagine him here with us? As part of the family?”
No, Rose never could, but that was part of the attraction to Jackson in the first place. He was different than the other people she spent time with. He liked her for her, not because of her proximity to power. Part of her had always known their time was limited, even as their relationship progressed from date nights to her leaving a few things at his place. If Jackson knew what was required of her, what lengths she would descend to, he’d run screaming into the night.
Except that man wasn’t Jackson at all.
She had a feeling Dante Verducci knew exactly what was required of a mafia family heir.
The anger she’d barely kept simmering beneath the surface threatened to explode. Not yet. She couldn’t let it leak out yet. If her sisters knew something was going on, they would insist on going with her. They’d fight, and then Anya would shadow her steps anyway. Even now, Anya watched her with narrowed eyes. She braided her long blond hair back from her face, leaving her sharp features on display. If Anya knew what was going on, she’d insist on tagging along, and Rose had to handle this herself.